The Light Who Shines Page 8

  “The mark that she left on Patersuco was a dark smear on his soul, and every child that he created carries this mark. The mark ties the soul to Lilith, and when it’s finally released from the body, it returns to her like a homing pigeon. So, even if a Daylight Vampire never kills in bloodlust, their soul will join her in the end when they are finally killed by one of the permanent methods.”

  I hold up my hand at this. “I understand how Patersuco could bargain away his soul, but how could he bargain away the souls of all of the people he turned? He didn’t have the right to them, and until they kill, they are still innocent.”

  Dragomira raises her eyebrows. “I’d never thought to wonder. But you are correct. I’ve never heard of another story of someone giving away souls that do not belong to them. Perhaps when a person is turned into a Vampire, their soul is forfeited to their maker somehow. Not all attempted turnings work, you know, and some humans die. Perhaps those are cases in which the human will not relinquish ownership of their soul.”

  I am dissatisfied by this response. It seems to me that if humans give up their souls at the time of turning, at least one Vampire would have mentioned it by now, but I keep my silence and let Dragomira finish the story.

  She steps off her stool to stretch her back. Her entire back bends like a bow, her spine cracking fiercely as she moves. When she straightens, she glances out the windows with a flick of her eyes, then brings them back to me with solemnity.

  “As you know, the birth of the Vampire brought on the Red Ages. Around 1500 R.A., Dark Vampires, those who had already killed in bloodlust and lost their sanity, almost wiped out all of humanity. It is said that in the time before the Great Pact, the very ground wept blood and the rivers flowed red. It wasn’t until humanity was at the brink of extinction that the Daylight Vampires, who were still rational, realized that once all humans were gone, they would perish as well. Without a blood supply, they would be forced to turn cannibalistic and would eventually wipe out their own breed. So the Daylight Vampires made a pact with humans to hunt Dark Vampires. People agreed to give blood donations to the Daylight Vampires, and the Daylight Vampires agreed not to feed without consent and to keep their own numbers under control. With this pact, people were once again able to live without the constant fear of being hunted, and a sense of balance was restored.”

  I nod at this. “Yes. We learned that much in our ancient history lessons in school as that was the beginning of the Reconstruction Period. But we learned nothing of the book. So basically what you’re saying is that with this book, Patersuco was able to summon the demon Lilith from the Plane of Fire, and the result of his bargain with her nearly caused the extinction of all humanity on Earth. I assume that the other things this book teaches are also a double-edged sword. Do you know where the book is?”

  Dragomira shakes her head emphatically. “Absolutely not. After the birth of Vampires, the leaders of each breed gathered and held council on what to do with the book. Some wanted it destroyed. Others wanted it saved. Some accounts say that attempts to destroy it failed. In the end, it was decided to lock the book and make it impossible to find. They designed the key and made it so that only with the key could the book be opened. The key was then separated into two pieces, and they hid all three items in separate places: the amulet, the eye, and the book.”

  Trying to ignore my panic at the significance of what I hold in my possession, I inquire as nonchalantly as possible, “Does anyone know where the pieces of the key are?”

  Dragomira looks askance at me and says, “I’ve researched the subject thoroughly and have never read an account of someone knowing where any of the three items are.”

  What was the boy doing with the amulet, and where did he get it? I’m glad that it’s hidden on holy ground because magic and evil can’t penetrate there. I feel like I came here for answers and instead ended up with more questions. So many questions swirl around in my mind, and I can’t make sense of them. Instead of asking them, I simply say, ”Thank you, Dragomira. I really appreciate the information.”

  Dragomira puts up her hand and says, “It is I who must thank you, Illustrissima. Thank you for listening to a favorite tale of mine. It is very rare that I get an audience these days. It is so rare, in fact, that I’d like to give you a gift.”

  This surprises me. At what point did Dragomira turn from a woman who was arrogant and aloof to a woman giving me gifts?

  “That’s not necessary at all,” I assure her.

  Dragomira ignores me and lifts up her arm. She says a word in that ancient language again, and I see a metal object fly from another room straight at her hand. She catches it deftly and stabs it down into the wooden counter in front of me. It’s a gorgeous, gleaming knife with a sapphire and diamond encrusted hilt and a double-edged blade of about seven inches long. I had no intention of accepting a gift, but I find myself entranced by this knife. My eyes slip enviously over the blade and my hands twitch, longing to wrap around the hilt.

  I look up at Dragomira in awe, and she says, “Its name is Curator, or Guardian in English.”

  I say softly and regrettably, “I can’t take this. It’s clearly precious.”

  Dragomira insists, “You must. These are dangerous times, Inspector Kildare. Just moments ago, someone was knocking on my wards looking for you.”

  My eyes go wide. The masked man from this morning must still be after me! Of course he is—he didn’t get what he wanted. How foolish of me to think otherwise. My hand flies to my neck as I think of his blade there just hours before. Dragomira’s eyes flit to my neck as well, her eyes knowing but her mouth quiet. Without saying another word, I grasp the knife in my hand and pull it out of the wood.

  Dragomira laughs softly and follows me to the door. As she unbolts it, she says, “Remember, his name is Guardian. Stay true, Illustrissima.”

  I am left wondering why she keeps calling me Illustrissima and what it means as I hear the door softly close behind me.

  Chapter 09

  Every Day Enmity

  Bluebell Kildare: May 27, 2022, Red Ages

  I enter the precinct headquarters and step into the sallyport, awkwardly conscious of the knife tucked in my waistband. It’s not the fact that I have a knife that makes me feel uncomfortable, but rather it’s how improperly sheathed it is that I find shameful.

  The officer at the front desk invites me past the sallyport and asks me to wait in the general station room while he calls Detective Gambino down. The room has scuffed, stark white walls and sterile gray linoleum floor tiles that could use repeated washings. Outdated metal desks pressed against each other give little privacy or work ambiance. A few officers writing reports and doing paperwork glance up at me in mild curiosity. I pace the open area by the doorway, anxious to finish at the precinct so I can get to my office. It’s already been a long and exhausting day.

  As I wait, two officers walk in from the back. One officer, heavyset, with short, thin hair plastered in small wisps to his oily face, leers at me overtly. Lust rolls off him and fills me with disgust. I know the other one and have no love for him either. His name is Detective Dean Schmidt. He is tall and broad-shouldered with coarse blond hair. He’s built like an old athlete who has gone slightly soft in the middle. His hazel eyes are a bit too wide-set for his face, and his thin lips rest in a permanent sneer when he looks at me. He’s holding a box of Ma Farina cookies in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Ma Farina is the best bakery in town. What a waste of cookies! He stops when he sees me and snarls with disgust, “What are you doing here, Aberrant?”

  Internally I cringe a little. You would think I’d be used to the insults by now, but they still sting a bit. Instead of outwardly reacting, I use the skills I learned in the orphanage and put on a brave front. “What’s your problem, Schmidt?” I spit out Schmidt’s name like it’s a curse word.

  “You’re my problem. I just arrested one of your kind, and I come here and there you are, another Aberrant, in my building.”

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nbsp; His buddy interjects as his lascivious stare rakes me up and down. “But she sure is hot. I wish they all looked like her.”

  I ignore the buddy and say to Schmidt, “Listen, Slick. Why don’t you put your little snack down and go get Gambino for me. I don’t have time to listen to your prejudiced idiocy. I have a murder to solve.”

  Detective Schmidt moves his hand toward me like he is going to hit me and his box of cookies falls to the ground. The lid of the box comes open during the fall, and cookies roll around at his feet. One cookie rolls in circles, around and around, before spiraling to a stop.

  I back up. Maybe being on the offensive was the wrong tactic.

  Schmidt looks at his cookies, and his mood turns even blacker. I can’t blame him, really; those are some darn good cookies. He takes a step forward with his fist raised. I look around for help, and I see two wide-eyed officers staring at us with mouths agape. No help there!

  I move to a defensive fighting stance. Schmidt is well-trained and much larger than I am, so I don’t stand a chance, but I am certainly not going to take his abuse lying down. I feel comforted that I have the knife, but no way am I going to be the first one to pull out a weapon.

  Gambino’s voice suddenly cuts through the room in a tone that brooks no argument. “Stand down, Schmidt!” I feel an avalanche of protective rage from Gambino, and it warms me to know he feels that way about me.

  Schmidt steps back.

  Gambino says with a calm that is remarkably contrived, “Inspector Kildare does excellent work. She has solved more homicides in two years than you have in the last ten, Detective Schmidt. I expect you to treat her with respect when she comes to this office.”

  Detective Schmidt’s mouth is closed in a white line of fury, and if looks could kill, I would be pierced with a million shards of glass at this moment.

  Gambino looks at Schmidt’s buddy and says, “Officer Randall, she is not a piece of meat. Get your dick out of your hand and get back to work.”

  Officer Randall turns bright red all the way up to his ears while I struggle to maintain a straight face at that remark.

  Gambino turns to me. “Right this way, Inspector Kildare,” he says kindly but firmly.

  As I follow him to his office with as much dignity as I can muster, Gambino shouts over his shoulder, “And pick up those damn cookies, Schmidt!”

  ”I’m sorry you had to deal with them,” Gambino says once we’re safely in his office. “There are a lot of good men on the force, but there are a few who fall short in certain areas. We’re working on it.”

  I nod in acceptance of this apology. Prejudice is rampant these days. The Gifted are human, just like Norms. The only difference is that we have a gift, a magical power of some sort. Some, like Dragomira, are Gifted in spell casting. Others, like me, have a special strength in one specific area. Prior to the birth of Vampires, the Gifted were hunted down as Witches and burned. But once the Vampires were born, the Gifted often helped protect the Norms. It is due to this help that small pockets of humans were able to survive until the Great Pact between Daylight Vampires and humans was made. Since then, many of the Gifted have stayed in public service positions like mine.

  Unfortunately, being that we are human, there are still those who are subject to selfishness and greed, and a percentage of us, just like humans, do immoral things. Being Gifted allows those of us who are so inclined to take greater advantage of Norms. Even when we don’t, many Norms are fearful simply because the Gifted are mysterious and unpredictable to them.

  The Daylight Vampires, however, are generally well tolerated in society in general, except by some of the more extreme hate groups, because they keep the Dark Vampire population down. During the worst of the Red Ages, Daylight Vampires struck an agreement with humans. Each human, Gifted included, provides a pint of blood to the blood banks every three weeks, and in turn they do not hunt us. They also agreed to keep their populations down, and they police this rule strictly amongst themselves. Anyone who makes too many children is using up too much of the blood supply and is hunted down.

  But there are many hate groups, particularly among those of orthodox religions, who would like to see all Vampires and Gifted wiped out. They say that if all Daylight Vampires were killed, then Dark Vampires would go extinct naturally and there would be no need for the Gifted. This is certainly true since all Dark Vampires start out as Daylight Vampires and don’t turn Dark until they kill in bloodlust. The requirement to give blood every three weeks is considered by many to be inconvenient, and this alone causes plenty of resentment.

  Due to the nature of the prejudice that permeates our society, I am not new to hate rhetoric. Still, it hurts.

  Doing my best to brush off the encounter, I ask Gambino, “What have you found out about our boy?”

  Gambino opens a folder on his desk. “The boy was on our missing persons list. He was seventeen years old and was missing for twenty-eight days. The investigating officer thought he was a runaway, but the parents claimed there was no reason for him to run. We have already notified the parents, and they identified the body at the Medical Examiner’s this morning. The boy’s name was Jason O’Connell.”

  I stand up and pace a little in Gambino’s tiny office. My blood is still high from the incident with Schmidt, and the office feels confining. I hardly take three strides before I have to turn. “Please don’t mind me,” I say to Gambino. “I just have to move a little. Continue, if you would.”

  Gambino nods, obliging me. “The M.E. faxed over the grill pattern they found on the boy’s skin. We are searching for the model car it belongs to. They also have some paint chips found on his skin in forensics, and we found glass at the scene. Hopefully between these three pieces of evidence we’ll get a match on a car registered in the area.”

  “Have you read the preliminary report from the M.E. yet?”

  Gambino taps his folder. “Yes. I’d like to nail the asshole who did that to a seventeen-year-old boy. Our perp is a real sicko.”

  “You and me both. Do you have any persons of interest?”

  “Well,” Gambino pauses as though reluctant to reveal what he must. “There was some trouble in the family. The parents have been estranged for about four months. The mother is Gifted, and she hid it from her husband for almost twenty years. When Jason’s gift came to light and his father rejected it under no uncertain terms, his mother revealed her gift and stood by the boy. The father left the home when this happened. We’ve talked with both parents, and I don’t see any real evidence pointing to either of them, but maybe the father was so ashamed that he decided to off the boy.”

  Gambino pauses for a moment and shakes his head. “I just don’t see a father who loved the boy for seventeen years, turning around and doing this kind of work on his own son.”

  Gambino points to a photo of the boy’s back with the lash marks highlighted under a bright camera flash. It is a gory photo, but it’s not nearly as impactful as what I saw with my own eyes just hours before.

  “He doesn’t seem like that type of man, and he has no history of violence,” Gambino continues. “But for now, that’s all we have.”

  I offer, “Well, there might be something else going on.”

  I reach into my pack, take out a small glass vial, and place it on the table. “This charm will prevent others from hearing what I’m about to say, and I need you to stop taking notes.”

  Gambino looks at it curiously. “What’s in it? Sand?”

  I laugh softly because it does look like sand. “It’s filled with dried, ground worms as they are one of the few creatures that can’t hear.”

  Gambino makes a noise that clearly expresses his disgust.

  I defend myself. “It could be made of octopus or squid, but they are way out of my price range. This is just as effective.”

  I can see by his face that he is unsettled but accepting, so I go on with my news. “After your forensics team left, I did another search with my sixth sense and found an amulet in the
bushes. After some research, I learned it’s an ancient piece with significant powers. I have it placed in an evidence bag and stored safely for now. What’s interesting is the piece of dark red thread caught in the clasp. Do you want us to keep it, or do you want to store it in the evidence locker?”

  Gambino looks up. “That’s very interesting. The preliminary report from the M.E. said a red thread was snagged in the boy’s fingernail. I think I’d like to see it, so if you could bring it down, that would be excellent.”

  I nod. “You can start taking notes again.”

  When he lifts his pencil, I go on. “When I went back to the Cock and Bull Tap to question the bartender about the man in the red cloak, I got the following description: he’s in his forties or fifties, is about six feet tall and thin with a long nose. He has a neatly trimmed, full beard and mustache. His facial hair is dark brown to black and slightly graying. Eyes are also dark. Head hair could not be seen due to the cloak’s hood. He was well dressed in trousers, a white dress shirt, and a tie.”

  When I stop speaking, Gambino stops taking notes. That is what I like about Gambino. He’s a professional with good attention to detail.

  I step forward and ask, “Does that description match anyone in the family?”

  Gambino says, “It doesn’t match the father, and no other men lived in the household.”

  I pause to think for a moment. “Do you know what the boy’s gift was?”

  Gambino leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out. “That was one of the strange things. Neither parent seemed to know. It makes sense from the father because he wanted nothing to do with the boy after finding out he was Gifted. But the boy’s mother stuck up for him, and I would have thought she would know. All she said was that the gift was kind of crazy and would interfere with other magic. That’s all she knew for sure.”

  I try to give this information some context for Gambino. “Sometimes when a child has a gift, it takes a while for them to figure out how to work it. The gifts usually show themselves around puberty, so this boy may have just been a late bloomer, gift-wise. I myself struggled to understand my gift. Since a child’s gift is usually nothing like their parents’, even a Gifted parent can’t guide their child in understanding their own gift.”